Befuddled
by jackalope21
Summary: Don’t.” Holmes said sternly, his cane pointed at the young man to his right, smoke slowly beginning to die from the pipe in his mouth. “I never want to hear that insufferable woman’s name again.” Please R
1. Chapter 1

**~Okay so... this is a little one shot, but I got inspired when I saw the stories that were already written in the 'Sherlock Holmes' section so I wanted to add one. I might addd more, let me know what you think.**

The young woman had remained under his radar for so long, Holmes was having trouble believing he had never seen the inevitable betrayal. She would saunter in and 'clean' his lab, his books, organize his notes, touch any and everything that he deemed too sacred and secret to let anyone other then Watson see, if that. She had seen everything and now she was able to know everything he knew. She had the perfect disguise. No one expected the help. No one. Though, you would think they would be the first ones you would suspect. After all, they are strangers wandering in and out of your home, seeing and touching your most private of things. But Mrs. Woods had given her such a high praise. She had assured the young man that she was completely reliable and would be able to work in his study since she couldn't read, something he now knew as a lie. She had given him no reason to doubt her, and now, he couldn't help but feel that she had betrayed him as well.

Watson still had that damn smirk on his face, the one that let Holmes know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had done something invariably stupid. He couldn't help but glower at his partner, something he rarely did. Watson's smile widened. He truly loved it when Holmes fell on his face.

But that young woman… she left no clues as to who she was, or what she was after. Then again, perhaps the fact she had come to work for _him_ would have been clue enough. He had many enemies in the world, people who envied him for his tactics, his intelligence, his work. People, who he was sure, would pay and pay well to know what he knew. So they sent in the spy. There was no other word for what she was. She worked for him for months, nearly eight to be exact without protest, without complaint… Perhaps that should have been another clue. Everyone that worked or lived within a mile of him complained about him, about what was all that varied.

She looked the part, a homely young woman of twenty. She always had her nearly blood colored hair tied back in a bun underneath her bonnet, her clothes pressed and neat despite being stuck with cleaning his study on a regular basis. Her emerald eyes glowed with flecks of gold when she smiled at them and seemed to dance in the fire light. She was polite, abnormally so, and always had a sweet smile for him and Watson when she entered the room. Then it dawned on him. He had never once remembered paying this much attention to her when she had been employed with him.

She would simply walk in, greet them as normal, and go about her business. He usually only glanced sideways at her to simply see what he was at liberty to say in her presence. It was his lack of attention towards the young woman that had been his excuse as to why he hadn't noticed anything about her. He knew it was a lie, he always had. He was a man that noticed everything at any point in time. It sometimes amazed him that his own mind never burst with the over load of information. But still, not her. It was as though she were the perfect illusion. She had come and gone and left nothing behind.

Holmes tightened his fists with anger as he thought about the young woman. His knuckles cracked loudly at the new tension, something that made Watson giggle. Holmes shot him a look. Did a grown man, this grown man, actually giggle? A frown pressed his brows together.

"Are you thinking of…"

"Don't." Holmes said sternly, his cane pointed at the young man to his right, smoke slowly beginning to die from the pipe in his mouth. "I never want to hear that insufferable woman's name again."

Watson only smiled once more before turning his attention to his book.

"Beverly."

Holmes felt his back tighten at the name his partner whispered, anger grip him tightly before fading. The ivory skinned maid that stole his secrets, the spy… The only woman to elude him completely and leave him more baffled then he ever thought and her name was Beverly.

Well… that was the name she gave them.

The End?


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I got a few people that wanted me to continue this story, and honestly I don't know exactly where to go with it, but I love, love, love this little bit and I hope you guys do too. Let me know what you think por favor. Thanks to you all!**

Part II

He hadn't done much in the past week, and his mind was beginning to stagnate. He sneered to himself at the thought. His mind was still, never moving. There was no flow of information in, nor did he have a use for any he currently possessed. The thoughts, memories and knowledge he prized so completely were beginning to fester and rot where they stood, never being brought forth and exercised.

"My mind is a puddle." He muttered to himself as he walked along the streets.

A few people he passed glancing at the madman that was speaking to himself. He paid them no never mind. They didn't matter, not at the moment, his lack of activity did. It concerned him, honestly, his mind sitting still. What if it became lazy? What if it protested the next time he wanted to call upon it for his work? The new thoughts made him shudder. That would never happen. His mind would never abstain from him…

As he walked along the crowded streets, watching the people that were oblivious to his existence, something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, a bright flash of red, similar to that of a ruby, brought him out of his current train of thought. His neck nearly snapped when he turned to see the source. It couldn't be. It was impossible. The powers that be were laughing at him, using him as a pawn in their twisted game to make him think he was going mad. Perhaps he was, a drawback of the previously mentioned stagnation, but something told him otherwise. So he quickened his pace, trying to get closer to the ruby, shining in the sun, to get a better look and desperately wishing he hadn't.

"Beverly." He hissed when the porcelain profile of the young woman caught his attention as she smiled to a shop keep.

He began to move through the crowd, picking a few articles of clothing up as he did. He, perhaps, should have felt back for stealing from these people, but his matter was more pressing. Yes, getting closer to _her_ was more important.

She paid him no attention as he wove through the mid-afternoon, market going crowd, still speaking with the same man he had spotted her with. They were involved in some conversation, over a piece of jewelry he thought, but in truth it didn't matter. There was a booth next to her, his back facing the young woman as he pretended to inspect a rather ostentatious vase in his hands, turning it this way and that as he dared a glance behind him.

She looked different, staggeringly so. She had her hair done up in beautiful curls, each one catching the light in a different way, casting the ruby like glow that had previously caught his eye. She was wearing makeup, something that never touched her face while she was in his employment. Though she truly didn't need it, the lipstick was rather eye catching, forcing him to realize how truly full her lips were. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before he forced himself to continue his observation.

She was wearing a brilliant, emerald green dress, much more fitting than her maid's outfit, with a black coat cut to her body. The shade of green reminded him of the shade her eyes would be in certain light, others seeming a bit darker. He noted the black striping that was barely visible, and the hat placed delicately on top of her wonderfully chaotic curls. It was a curious thing that she was capable to make it look so wonderfully out of order. He cocked his head to the side to admire the new Beverly, the supposed r_eal_ Beverly. The thought made him laugh; sure it wasn't even her real name, all the more so after seeing her in this outfit. But as he stood there, musing over his internal conversation, she had begun her walk through the people once more, leaving the booth and man behind.

Shocking himself to reality, he sped off after her, as fast as he dared without raising too much suspicion. He wouldn't let this opportunity pass him by, not after her leaving him gob smacked and completely befuddled nearly two months ago. The task, however, was easier said than done, something he realized after he managed to nearly knock over two or three people in his pursuit. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice and he could keep his chase going. Perhaps the term 'hunt' was more fitting.

She was the fox, trying to make her way through a forest, trying to blend in with her surroundings though she was obviously meant to stand out. The bright red of her 'fur' shown over the dull and mediocre surroundings she found herself in. And he, he was the hound. He had caught her scent from a mile away and the chase commenced. He bounded through the area she had occupied, entranced by her appearance, by her scent and the thought of catching her to the point he had to continue. There was no other way about it. He had a ravenous appetite to find the young woman that had managed to 'wrong' him.

In his mind, that was what she had done. She had betrayed his trust; though he wasn't sure he had any in her to begin with. Then again, he must have to let her do what she had done for him. That made the thought worse. She had belittled the trust he so rarely gave, discarded it as though it were refuse. He grumbled to himself at the action that made him chase her like a hunter.

Keeping a keen eye on her, he noticed her turn to the entryway of an alley that led to the main streets. She was trying to escape but he wouldn't let her. He smiled to himself; more so relieved his mind was working as he charged in after her. He nearly burst through the entryway, not paying attention to much of anything until he heard it.

CLICK

His hands came up to his sides at the distinct sound of a gun cocking, a .22 caliber if he wasn't mistaken, a gun that would fit easily in a young woman's handbag. He sighed heavily, cursing his mind for not doing anything for so long only to kick into high gear and cloud his senses to the point he now had a gun aimed at him.

"Why are you following me?"

Her voice rang in his ears with an accent she didn't possess before. Was there anything about her that was real?

"American. Figures." He grumbled quietly, knowing she heard him when there was a distinct intake of breath that didn't come from him.

A smile crossed his lips as he turned to face the young woman. He saw the brief shock on her face before recognition took hold of her delicate features. A smile crossed her lips, a menacingly wicked smile that made his falter before completely disappearing. The young woman cocked a brow to the man and he couldn't help but let his mind wander at the glorious structure that was her face. It was so feminine, delicate, and angelic almost as it hid the truly cunning reality of the woman.

"Well, Mr. Holmes." She said with the same smile still pulling at her beautifully red lips. "What took you so long?"

His face dropped further, his brow pulling together at the insult. She had just insulted him. Suddenly, the gun she had pointed at him was nothing more than a shiny object, not the potentially dead weapon it was meant to be. His hands came down as his mind began to race once more.

"Treacherous snake. Deceitful harpy. Untrustworthy, lying, devious, underhanded, conniving, Machiavellian!" he spat loudly.

The smile left the young woman's face, her eyes slightly wide with disbelief at the insults that had just been spouted from the man's mouth. He felt his chest swell with pride at the task of disarming the young woman like she had to him, no matter how temporary. Although, perhaps he should have put more effort into the thought because it didn't slow her in the least. Suddenly, he felt his chest deflate, his ego along with it as almost joyous laughter rang from her perfect lips. For a moment, he was simply stunned by the sound, a fact that was momentarily pushed to the side at the realization she was laughing… at him no less.

"I demand to have the information you stole from me." He finally declared.

"Stole?" she asked with a cocked brow. "Where there any papers missing?"

"Well, no but…"

"Were your notes out of order, books missing from the shelves, anything that would lead you to believe I took something from you?" she asked, placing her gun back in her purse.

"No." he grumbled, but still unwilling to admit defeat. "But I find it hard to believe you went into my employment, to clean my study where I keep my most precious information, only to take nothing with you."

"Really?" she asked with the same sweet smile. He froze as she walked up to him and placed a delicately gloved hand on his chest, her eyes staring directly into his, a sweet scent emanating from her skin that made his back tighten. It was almost euphoric until she spoke. "It was only a job Mr. Holmes. Your neighbor was more interesting."

He felt his jaw go slightly slack as she patted his chest, his heart beating heavily within as though it tried to escape and follow her. The smell lingered, nearly bringing tears to his eyes as he rolled the words she had spoken over and over in his mind. She had used him, for a job. She had used him. Used _him_? He was the great Sherlock Holmes! No one used him.

Then his mind kicked into gear once more. And for a moment he had wished it would have shut up only to have it ask a serious question. Had she been the one that had stolen Mrs. Sinclair's expansive collection of jewelry? Suddenly it hit him; the emerald earrings on the young woman's ears did look ornately familiar. Here he was, thinking Mr. Sinclair had sold the collection only to find their problems stemmed from the same woman. She had disappeared almost directly after the fact, and now she was wearing a piece of the jewelry in question. A smile touched his lips. Perhaps there was a way to find out who the young woman was now. All he had to do was compile every bit of information that fit the profile of the next door neighbor's victimization and he would be able to find her true identity, or at least another few she may use.

Stagnation be damned, he had a new interest.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

Obscenities flowed from the apartment like a waterfall, echoing down the halls and meeting the young doctor's ears as he entered the building. He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes in the direction of his colleague, glad he hadn't invited Mary along with him for this supposed short visit. Though with the assault on his ears he was currently enduring, he wasn't sure it would be the simple 'in and out' he had hoped.

"Oh Doctor…." an exasperated voice said.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson." he replied in his jovial tone, though feeling currently anything but.

"He's been like that for near an hour. Won't stop." she sighed. "Do what you have to please. Knock him over the head if you must, just anything to get him to stop."

"I'll see what I can do." he smiled, making his way up the stairs after handing off his hat and coat.

The young doctor took a deep breath before rapping gently on the door with the metallic head of his cane. The profanity suddenly ceased before a loud shuffling of papers was heard. The young man rolled his eyes and walked inside.

There, on the floor, sitting in a multitude of papers, was Holmes. He was crouched on the floor like a child playing with toys, newspaper clippings, and all other manner of paper scattered around him as though his library had exploded. Watson's eyes went wide, his mouth hanging slightly slack at the sight. Holmes had never been one for a tidy house but this… this was sheer bedlam.

"Good God Holmes. What have you done?" he exclaimed, measuring the safety factor of venturing through the discarded notes.

"Simply studying Watson." he answered in his most refined voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"It's Tuesday Holmes."

"Ah yes. One of the few times you dare come into my room. Pity it has to be scheduled." he replied with a cocked brow, raising himself and feeling his knees crack from hours in the crouched position before sitting in his chair.

"Unless we have a case, I try to avoid coming in here. Ever since you saw Beverly in the market, you've gone mad."

"Mad is a bit extreme don't you think?" he asked, lighting his pipe.

"Really?" Watson asked shocked, digging his cane into the few inches of paper and pushing it out of the way so he could make it to his own chair without slipping. "I think mad is the perfect term. Though, you seem to be currently bordering on derangement."

Holmes's mouth twitched into a slight smile at the thought.

"So," Watson finally sighed, pushing the last bit of 'garbage' out of his way and plopping into the chair. "I take it by the rather impressive vocabulary I heard on my way into the house, you haven't found anything?"

"On the contrary, I have found more than enough to solidify that the young woman I have come to know as Beverly is a career thief. I have compiled a list of robberies that have fit the MO of what I have learned of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclare's theft. And," he said, grabbing one newspaper article in particular. "She has been a busy girl."

Watson didn't like the tone in the man's voice when he said it, nor the way he was reading the paper. Quickly, the young doctor snatched it out of Holmes's hands and continued to stare at him.

"Then the reason for the obscenities?"

Holmes waited, his chin coming to rest in the hand that was propped up on the arm's chair, examining Watson as he read the article.

"But this doesn't have her name." Watson finally said before glancing up at the man.

"Now you see the reason for the rather… distasteful speech."

"Then how do you even know it's her?" Watson asked skeptically before tossing the paper down onto the massive pile currently inhabiting the floor.

Holmes watched it flutter in the air before sliding into its spot on the highest point of his findings before speaking.

"There are simple things I have noticed in each and everyone of those articles that leads me to believe that our young maid is the culprit."

"Then why keep all of this?" Watson asked, waving his cane over the mess to illustrate his point. "Is she going to become your sick fascination?"

"On the contrary, I shall continue to compile every piece of information I can on the young woman, and should the police ever need me to find her, I will be prepared."

He declared the sentence in a way that made Watson narrow his eyes. Holmes felt the young man leaning closer in his chair, examining the detective. Holmes tried to avoid the prying eyes of the man next to him but it was becoming difficult. Watson knew the detective had declared the sentence more for himself, to justify what he planned on doing, than for Watson.

"What?" Holmes finally snapped, feeling the side of his face almost burning with the eyes of his colleague.

"You like her don't you?"

"Where would you even deduce something like that?" Holmes asked, still avoiding the eyes of the man beside him.

"Admit it."

"There's nothing to admit."

"Admit it!" Watson snapped with a slight smile.

"No!' Holmes retaliated, looking a bit jostled.

"I knew it." Watson chuckled slightly as he sat back in his chair, eyes surveying the mess once more.

As the two sat there, Holmes hating that Watson knew him so well, there was another knock on the door before it opened. Mrs. Hudson gasped at the new destruction of the room.

"Can we help you… nanny?" Holmes asked in the same tone he always used with her.

"When will you stop calling me that?" she asked with a cocked brow as she walked into the room.

"When you stop acting like it." he countered.

"Stop being a child and maybe I will." she answered with a victorious smile before producing a small package. "This just arrived for you."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Watson told her kindly, knowing Holmes wouldn't as he snatched the package like a hurt child.

She nodded to the doctor and left the room, much to her delight. Holmes eyed the package for a moment, then his partner, before daring to open it. It was a simple brown package, one that you would often see going through the mail, but there was nothing written on it, only his name in perfect script lettering.

With sure hands, he ripped the paper off and saw an ornately decorated bow within. Thinking carefully, Holmes leaned forward and sniffed the box. Watson rolled his eyes, snatching it from him and opening the lid.

"There's a note." he told Holmes as he opened it. He read in silence and began to laugh before handing the note to the detective.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I pray you aren't starving yourself while you try to find me. Here are some olives from the Cyclades. I think you might enjoy them. _

_Yours truly, _

_Irene Adler, your Beverly._

"Well, she does have good taste." Watson teased as Holmes reread the note over and over again, popping an olive in his mouth.

"Irene Adler, the wily fox that eludes the hound. Never again to disappear into the background." he muttered to himself.

Watson was in the middle of throwing another olive into his mouth when Holmes began muttering to himself. He eyed the man, wondering if he truly had gone mad, shut away in his room, trying to find out who the young woman was. It seemed he had.

Holmes saw the new look of slight concern and worry on his friend's face and thought it best to ignore. Now he had a name. Her name. And now he could find her even easier than before.


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV

Holmes had assumed that once he had the young woman's name, things would have fallen into place much easier than they had. He was wrong, something he didn't like to admit and a word that never left his mouth unless it was aimed at another. _He_ was never … wrong… even thinking it felt like a betrayal to himself. It was a distasteful word and _she_ had made him think it.

With most people, normal people, names were all you needed to find anything, everything about them and yet with hers, it felt like he was even further away from gathering the truth. How was that even possible? Was there something about this woman that made it so? Yes, it must have been. She was so elusive that not even a name was enough to hold her in place.

Holmes growled to himself, biting a bit harder on his pipe as he thought about the woman that seemed to plague his mind as of late. True he had worked the occasional case since her appearance, subsequent disappearance and taunting note but in his free time he would always travel back to her. It was enough to make him go mad, more so than others seemed to deem him.

"Have you not heard a word I've said Holmes?"

"Hmm?"

Watson sighed, placing his fingers to his temple to try and ebb the headache that only the great Sherlock Holmes could induce.

"Holmes, is there something else more pressing at the moment?" he asked obviously annoyed. Holmes went to open his mouth provoking Watson to interrupt quickly. "And if it is another thing about Adler I swear to you I will have you committed."

Holmes snapped his mouth shut simply and went about nibbling on the mouth of his pipe once again.

"I've no idea what you mean my dear Watson." he replied. "I was simply going to ask what's gotten you so agitated."

"Must you ask me that?"

Holmes only cocked a brow to the man sitting at his side.

"You've been sitting here, in your room, festering and stewing in your own… odors," he argued. "And you've been doing nothing but wasting your time, obsessing and thinking about this woman. What is it that has you so transfixed on her? She's nothing more than a common thief."

"She, my dear Watson, is anything but common." he answered quickly, his tone a bit on edge. "As for your assessment of her being a thief, truer words were never spoken, but there in lies the reason for my _obsession_."

"I've upset you again haven't I?" he sighed.

"No," Holmes replied, a bit too hoity for Watson's liking. "I was simply stating that my supposed obsession is nothing more than diligent work. As I have stated on multiple occasions, should the authorities ever need me to, I will be more than capable of hunting the young woman down to have her arrested."

Watson shook his head lightly, turning his eyes to his friends.

"So there's nothing else? You're simply compiling evidence?" he finally asked, his words betraying his lack of conviction in his friend. "You're not acting this way because she bested you?"

Holmes scoffed.

"Of course not and I am offended you would think so."

"Well then I apologize." Watson replied, feeling a bit bad for accusing Holmes of his sick fascination.

"Never fear Watson. It's your over inquisitive and accusatory mind that has aided us so well in our past exploits."

Smiling his satisfaction, Holmes gathered a few papers nearby, jobs that had been sent to him. Before he could open his mouth to read them, there was a knock at the door. Knowing Holmes never would, Watson called for Mrs. Hudson to enter.

"_Nanny…_" he grumbled to himself at the sight of the woman.

She cocked a simple brow to the man before producing a piece of paper.

"This just came for you from the Grand Hotel." she declared.

Holmes froze, his face going a bit lighter than normal, which was saying something given his lack of sunlight exposure. Seeing his reaction to the small piece of paper, Watson lunged forward and snatched it before his colleague could do the same. Holmes fought for a moment, struggling to get to the small telegram but was met with nothing more than an elbow planted firmly into his sternum, forbidding his advances. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes at the display of childishness coming from the two men she felt she babysat more than anything, turning and leaving them at it.

The detective continued to struggle for a moment before finally relenting his attempts when Watson began to read the message aloud. He plopped down into his chair like a spoiled child, huffing his irritation while Watson couldn't keep the horror from his voice.

"_Mr. Holmes, as per your request, we have located the young woman you inquired about. She is in room 519."_

The room suddenly fell deathly silent. Watson held the note and read it over and over again, trying to find a reasoning behind it. They didn't have a case involving a young woman nor one they suspected was to be staying in the hotel. Silence continued to stretch, tension mounting as Holmes felt his friend near explosion. Grabbing his violin, he began to surreptitiously pluck strings, sure to avoid eye contact with the now brooding man.

"Holmes," Watson sighed annoyed.

"Well Watson," he chimed, standing abruptly and making his way towards the door. "It appears as though I've got business to attend and you've tea with Mary yes?"

"Holmes," he growled, becoming increasingly agitated.

"Then I will see you later this evening."

The detective quickly began to scurry out of the room, sure to snatch his hat before closing the door behind him.

"Holmes!" Watson bellowed, his words falling on deaf ears as his friend dashed from the apartment.

The poor doctor sighed, shaking his head slightly as the throbbing between his temples grew. He was fairly certain that at some point Holmes would force him to have a stroke, his brain to almost melt within his skull from the sheer absurdity of the man and his techniques. True he was a brilliant man, skilled and one of the most gifted Watson had ever met but he was also the most insufferable.

Still, as he sat there, a smile touched the young man's lips. If Holmes was so determined to land on his face, to be made a fool once more by Adler, who was he to stop it? If her teaching him yet another lesson was what he needed to realize that she was better at being more sly than him then so be it. As smart as Holmes was, she seemed more cunning and devious, something that he seemed unwilling to accept. So, if this was what he needed to do then fine, Watson would let him do it.


	5. Chapter 5

**I just want to say THANK YOU! You people are awesome. This story started out as literally nothing more than a one shot and slowly but surely is becoming a story with a point. lol. This is sort of an intermittent chapter, a filler I guess you could say. Since everyone's kind words and asking me to continue, I think I will. I hope you guys like it and let me know. Thank you again so, so, so much! (oh, anybody seen the new one? It good? :) )**

Part V

Holmes darted through the lobby of the Grand, avoiding odd glances and the people walking hand in hand through the large corridor. He eyed them all as he hid behind columns and topiaries, extravagant flower arrangements in attempts to prevent drawing attention to him. It had the opposite effect to be sure, people staring at the crazy man that scooted from one stationary obstruction to another. Those who did notice him would move quickly away, sure he was going to start spouting nonsense or harm someone. Holmes paid them little to no attention, his eyes more focused on everything else around him as he leisurely toyed with a low hanging flower in his fingers. He turned around slowly and suddenly noticed guards of some kind standing near the entrances, talking amongst themselves as they too surveyed the room. Holmes was skeptical immediately.

They were tall men with thick beards that hid their bronzed faces. It was painfully obvious to even the novices nearby that they weren't English. He assumed Middle Eastern if not India, the aforementioned beards making it difficult to see anything along the lines of their faces. They had stern, cold nearly black eyes that were as alert and moving as an eagle, taking in everything, missing nothing in their surroundings. The three of them stood there, hands clasped in front of their bodies, shoulders back and stood as tall as they could to help ensure how terrifying they were was relayed to every patron. It worked for many of the Englishmen that walked by them.

Holmes shook his head back into what he had come to do. These men had nothing to do with Adler, not as far as he knew anyway, and she was his primary directive. He had to find the fox that seemed to elude him so completely, the one that had become his unwanted obsession. He grumbled to himself as he thought about the taunting he had received from Watson, how accurate the young doctor had been and swore he would never tell him.

The detective finally stood upright and moved, walking towards the stairwell. He glanced to the side at the line of people waiting to go in the elevator. He grimaced. He'd never trust those things, supposedly capable of pulling a person up multiple stories faster than a person could walk up steps. He had been in one of them before and swore never again. It rocked, lurched and jerked. Steel death traps they were, boxes that could easily plummet tens of feet or better to the ground floor, mangled metal and people trapped within all because they didn't want to take the time to walk up the stairs. With a scoff he shook his head and made his way up the marble steps.

Elevators. They would never last.

0o0

By the time Holmes made it to the fifth floor he had greatly reconsidered his position on the lift in the lobby. Either he was incredibly out of shape or something was wrong with the Grand and their steps were bigger and more devious than others. Either way, he breathed heavily from the exertion as he walked down the hall of the fifth floor rooms, glancing this way and that as he searched for the fabled room.

_519_

Cold swept through the season detective's back as he stared at the small golden panel with the numbers etched within. The innocence of the numbered door was easily tainted with the evil woman that dwelled within. His brow tensed. Evil, crafty, illusory woman that had claimed to be something and wasn't, that had led him to believe her only to turn around and outsmarted him.

"_Beverly_…" he growled under his breath, remembering how everything had started all those months ago.

With determination swelling through him, Holmes reached into his pocket for the lock picking set he had acquired years ago. He jiggled it in his hands, getting a feel for which blank key may be needed as he looked over his shoulder and down the hall, sure he was alone before moving.

The sound of the metal grinding and clicking in his hands was the only thing that echoed through the halls. There were no footsteps, no people, nothing as he concentrated on the task at hand. He kicked himself internally, making a note to practice this particular skill though part of him knew he wouldn't. Breaking and entering with grace wasn't something he excelled at. But still he worked, grumbling and cursing as he kept messing with the lock fruitlessly.

If he had been paying more attention, he would have realized there was someone walking up the steps behind him. He would have heard the voices, the clicking of the steps against the marble floor and would have realized how soon it would be before he risked being caught.

"Ha!" he declared happily, hearing the familiar snap of the unlocking door when laughter brought him to reality.

Holmes turned and noticed a couple rounding the corner at the end of the hall, walking straight towards him. He moved quickly, ducking into the room and closing it behind him. The detective pressed his ears to the door, more than capable of hearing the young woman laughing and swooning over the gentlemen she was with, flirting shamelessly. He rolled his eyes to himself as the voices approached and to his shock, stopped right outside the door. His heart began to race in his chest, beating hard enough to nearly drown out the talking in his ears.

"_Well thank you, I would love that."_ An all too familiar voice beamed.

"_Until tonight."_

Holmes had only a moment to act and moved as the key slide into the lock.

Irene opened her door, smiling sweetly as she walked in and locked it behind her. She wore an ear to ear smile before looking up and noticing a man sitting in a chair next to the fireplace. She jumped, a light squeak leaving her lips at the unexpected guest. Then, recognition soon took over.

"Well, Mr. Holmes." She sighed, her smile turning to a disbelieving grin as she walked into her room and removed her hat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Holmes said nothing for a moment, just stared at the young woman. Irene glanced to him, raising a brow at the nonchalant behavior. When she had walked in, Holmes was sitting leisurely in the chair facing the door, his legs crossed; chewing on his pipe as though he had been waiting for hours instead of mere seconds. Either notion was a bit unnerving to the young woman but she decided to push passed it, interested only in how he seemed to know she was there. However, the longer he went without answering, the more annoyed she became.

"I've come for the things you've stolen from the Sinclairs." He lied quickly.

"Stole?" she asked in mock offense. "My dear Mr. Holmes, I don't _steal_. That would make me a thief."

He raised his brows to her in slight shock that she dismissed what she was so easily to the man who knew different. Still, a sly smile played at her painted lips as she sat across from the man, her hands gently resting in her lap.

"Here I was thinking you missed me."

He was temporarily disarmed by the young woman again. Irene smiled contently to herself as she adjusted the brilliant purple dress she had picked out for the day. Holmes seemed to notice the action and wasn't amused that she was toying with him, the same as she had last time they had spoken.

"What's your game woman?" he asked impolitely.

She looked shocked at him for a moment before openly laughing that same sweet and innocent laugh that was just as misleading as her exterior. She shook her head gently as she stood and adjusted her dress. She shook her head gently at the man.

"Dinner tonight?" She asked with a smile. Holmes just looked up at the woman, eying her suspiciously. Irene only kept the smile, walking off towards the washroom. "Eight thirty in the restaurant downstairs. I'm sure you can manage that."

And with that, the door closed behind her. He glared to himself, gnawing on the mouth of the pipe further. She seemed indifferent to his accusations and more than capable of seeing through his ploys to try and disarm her. At the moment, it was a tie between which bothered him most.

Holmes was an intelligent man, rivaled by none and unparalleled in many fields. He saw everything, missed nothing, knew things others would never even consider thinking about and yet with his vast amounts of knowledge, she baffled him. It was infuriating that one woman could dominate his thoughts so completely, that she could have eluded him and slipped between his fingers as though she were nothing more than smoke.

Determination suddenly surged through the man as he stood from his seat and made his way towards the door. He would win this round. He would find her reason for returning to London and thwart the plans he had. He would be the victor this round and regain his flawless record. No one pulled the wool over the detective's eyes and soon enough he would show her how foolish she had been to try and dupe the great Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
